


The Taste of Stars

by wordcraze



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:43:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcraze/pseuds/wordcraze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is blind, but he doesn’t need his sight to know that Zayn is the most beautiful person in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Stars

Sometimes, it frustrates Harry to know he’ll never experience the same things as the people around him. But it’s not that bad since he doesn’t exactly know what he’s missing. He’s never had proper sight. His world had been dark since the first moment he opened his eyes. But he’s very good with his ears, and he can pick up on things that most people can’t. He can hear the smooth bass in a song, or some underappreciated instrument in the background.

He’s not entirely sure how to define colors, so he stays away from that just because he wouldn’t know where to start. He’s heard people talk about the stars, and he tries to imagine them. Harry tries very hard to think about how stars would look, but something like that is so far beyond his reach, so he just tries to imagine how they feel, smell, and taste.

He definitely wonders what stars taste like.

Zayn is Harry’s best friend. And Harry reckons they’re best friends because Zayn has never been afraid to ask questions, and he doesn’t treat Harry like he’s fragile. When they were younger, they just gravitated towards each other because they both had been outcasts. The blind kid, and the one with the ambiguous ethnicity. It was a perfect fit.

Harry lets his fingers roam across Zayn’s face every year, right on Zayn’s birthday. He wants to know how much Zayn has changed, and he can feel the differences beneath his fingertips. Harry can almost visualize Zayn’s face. He knows it’s perfect, and he comes to memorize his features even though he only touches him like this once a year. The slope of Zayn’s nose, his high cheekbones, and the curve of his mouth. Harry isn’t quite sure what the definition of beauty is, but whatever it might be, Zayn sure has it.

"I got a haircut," Zayn says one day. “Give it a good feel. Don’t worry, there’s no product. No sticky crap on your fingers."

Harry doesn’t hesitate as he tangles his fingers through Zayn’s hair, twisting strands between his thumb and forefinger. It feels wonderful. “No more weird swirly thing?"

"Shut up, Styles. Everyone went mad for it."

"They said it looked like ice cream."

"You don’t even know what ice cream looks like."

Harry laughs, then gives Zayn’s hair a firm tug causing the other boy to yelp. He figures they’re even.

They’re both quiet for a while as Harry moves his fingers through Zayn’s hair. The best part about this is that Zayn is never uncomfortable when Harry touches him. When most boys come to a certain age, they tend to get jumpy with close encounters with their mates, but Zayn just sits there and lets himself be touched.

"You tell me your hair is black, but I don’t even know what black looks like," Harry doesn’t mean to sound sad, but it just comes out that way. He takes his fingers back from Zayn’s hair, and folds his hands on his lap.

"Black…" Zayn says the word like it’s something new. “When you’re falling into an abyss, and you’re just falling and falling, and there’s really no end to it. Like Alice down the rabbit hole, except there’s no stop. It keeps going. Fast nothingness."

"Fast nothingness," Harry repeats. “And white is the opposite of black? What’s white look like?"

"White is sitting in a chair in the middle of a big empty room. There’s no breeze, no sound, no movement. But it’s a little cold. Chilled stagnation."

Harry falls in love with Zayn at least ten times a day. He’s not sure how it’s possible to fall in love with the same person multiple times, but Zayn makes him feel so many things he can’t describe, so how could he begin to fathom love?

"I know what we should do!" Zayn says suddenly, and with newfound enthusiasm. “I’ll describe colors to you. Every single day we’ll do different colors. I’m tired of seeing you look like a rejected puppy whenever someone brings up color in a conversation."

"I don’t look like a re—"

"Yeah, you really do. It’ll be our new project, okay?"

And Harry falls in love with Zayn again.

\- - -

They start with simple colors. Harry lets Zayn lead him, and he trusts that his friend won’t let him fall on his face, so he doesn’t complain when he’s being pulled in random directions.

"Trust me," Zayn says, and Harry does. But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t just a little bit nervous. He feels Zayn’s fingers close around his wrist, and suddenly his hand is pressing against a warm surface. It’s a little bit rough, but not too much, and the heat gets more intense as his palm lingers there.

"Ouch," Harry hisses, and he pulls back.

"That’s what red feels like," Zayn says. “You just touched a brick wall. The sun has been hitting it all morning. But red isn’t so harsh sometimes. It can be something you feel as well. I mean like, in here," Zayn’s hand presses to Harry’s chest. “When your emotions are running high, whether it be bad or good, it’s red. Anger, hatred, love, happiness. It’s all red."

"Emotions are red," Harry murmurs, absentmindedly leaning against Zayn’s touch. He feels red right now.

Zayn pulls away, and he takes a hold of Harry’s hand. Next, he teaches him blue. Blue is cold running water against skin, crisp and clean. Blue is the calming sensation of the wind blowing through your hair. Harry likes blue.

But he really enjoys green. The tickle of the grass on the back of his neck makes him giggle as he lays down in the middle of the park. He likes the feel of it in between his toes, and how soft it is as he rolls around in it. But when he digs his fingers past the grass, past the green, he finds brown. The dirt crumbles in his fingers, and the smell is earthy and natural.

The colors become real to him. They become more than just words he can’t quite understand. In a way, he feels as if he understands them more than people with sight. He feels the colors, and he likes to think that’s more important than seeing them.

Zayn is with him every day, and Harry feels colors with him. All the colors. Burning red, calming blue. Zayn smells like cerulean and sienna, his skin is soft like lavender and cream. His voice is crimson, lava, but it’s also midnight blue and magnolia.

Harry thinks Zayn is every single color imaginable, and he also thinks he is every color that hasn’t been discovered yet.

I see you in colors that don’t exist.

"What do stars look like?" Harry asks one night. Zayn crawled in through the window like he usually does, and has situated himself on Harry’s bed.

He can feel Zayn shift on the bed, and judging by the closeness of his voice, Harry can tell he’s laying on his side, facing him. “Like diamonds against a black curtain."

Harry smiles faintly. “I wish I could see stars."

Zayn’s fingers wrap gently around Harry’s wrist. “You do see stars. You see them better than anyone. You see everything better than anyone else."

"No, I don’t. I can’t see at all."

There is a hesitation. Harry hears the small hitch in Zayn’s breathing. “You saw me when no one else did."

Harry feels Zayn’s fingertips on his cheek, and it’s warm, and electric, and he never wants to move from this spot. He wonders what Zayn’s expression is right now, and how he’s looking at him. He wants to know if it’s a look of love. Or confusion. They’re so close, and Harry can’t even see. He’s so frustrated with himself, and he silently prays to be granted vision just for five seconds so he could see Zayn’s face. Just for a moment, please. Please please please. He’s not aware of the tears that spring in his eyes, and trickle down his cheeks until Zayn is wiping them away.

"I wouldn’t change anything about you," Zayn is whispering. “Not one thing."

And Zayn kisses Harry.

The kiss is soft, and their lips fit like matching puzzle pieces. Their arms and legs wrap around each other, and they’re perfectly entwined. Harry’s tears stop when he feels Zayn smile against his lips.

He no longer wonders what stars taste like.


End file.
